Bleachers (13 page)

“Thanks.”

Paul kicked the grass. “Look, Jesse, there’s a memorial service tomorrow, at the field. Most of Rake’s boys will be there, you know, to say goodbye. Mal thinks he might be able to pull some strings and get you a pass.”

“No way, man.”

“You got a lot of friends there, Jesse.”

“Former friends, Paul, people I’ve let down. They’ll all point and say, ‘Look, there’s Jesse Trapp. Coulda been great, but got messed up on drugs. Ruined his life. Learn from him, kids. Stay away from the bad stuff.’ No thanks. I don’t want to be pointed at.”

“Rake would want you there,” Neely said.

The chin dropped again and the eyes closed. A moment passed. “I loved Eddie Rake like I’ve loved nobody else in my life. He was in court the day I got sent away. I had ruined my life, and I was humiliated over that. I had wrecked my parents, and I was sick about that. But what hurt the most was that I had failed in Rake’s eyes. It still hurts. Y’all can bury him without me.”

“It’s your call, Jesse,” Paul said.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

There was a long pause as all three nodded and studied the grass. Finally, Paul said, “I see your mom once a week. She’s doing well.”

“Thanks. She visits me the third Sunday of every month. You ought to drive over sometime, say hello. It’s pretty lonely in here.”

“I’ll do that, Jesse.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. And I wish you’d think about tomorrow.”

“I’ve already thought about it. I’ll say a prayer for Rake, you boys can bury him.”

“Fair enough.”

Jesse looked to his right. “Is that Mal over there?”

“Yes, we rode with him.”

“Tell him to kiss my ass.”

“I’ll do that, Jesse,” Paul said. “With pleasure.”

“Thanks boys,” Jesse said. He turned and walked away.

______________

At four o’clock Thursday afternoon the crowd parted at the gate to Rake Field and the hearse backed itself into position. Its rear door was opened and eight pallbearers formed two short lines and pulled out the casket. None of the eight were former Spartans. Eddie Rake had given much thought to his final details, and he had decided not to play favorites. He selected his pallbearers from among his assistant coaches.

The procession moved slowly around the track. The casket was followed by Mrs. Lila Rake, her three daughters and their husbands, and a handsome collection of grandchildren. Then a priest. Then the drum corps from the Spartan marching band, doing a soft roll as they passed the home stands.

Between the forties on the home sideline
there was a large white tent, its poles anchored in buckets of sand to protect the sacred Bermuda of Rake Field. At the fifty-yard line, at the exact spot where he had coached for so long and so well, they stopped with his casket. It was mounted on an antique Irish wake table, the property of Lila’s best friend, and quickly surrounded by flowers. When the Coach was properly arranged, the family gathered around the casket for a short prayer. Then they formed a receiving line.

The line stretched down the track and through the gate, and the cars were bumper to bumper on the road that led to Rake Field.

______________

Neely passed the house three times before he was brave enough to stop. There was a rental car in the driveway. Cameron had returned. Long after dinner, he knocked on the door, almost as nervous as the first time he’d done so. Then, as a fifteen-year-old with a new driver’s permit, his parents’ car, twenty bucks in his pocket, the peach fuzz scraped off his face, he had arrived to take Cameron on their first real date.

A hundred years ago.

Mrs. Lane opened the door, same as always, but this time she did not recognize Neely. “Good evening,” she said softly. She was still beautiful, polite, refusing to age.

“Mrs. Lane, it’s me, Neely Crenshaw.”

As the words came out, she recognized him. “Why, yes, Neely, how are you?”

He figured his name had been mud in the house for so long, he wasn’t sure how he’d be received. But the Lanes were gracious people, slightly more educated and affluent than most in Messina. If they held a grudge, and he was certain one was being held, they wouldn’t show it. Not the parents anyway.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Would you come in?” she said, opening the door. It was a halfhearted gesture.

“Sure, thanks.” In the foyer, he looked around and said, “Still a beautiful home, Mrs. Lane.”

“Thank you. Could I get you some tea?”

“No, thanks. Actually, I’m looking for Cameron. Is she here?”

“She is.”

“I’d like to say hello.”

“I’m very sorry about Coach Rake. I know he meant everything to you boys.”

“Yes ma’am.” He was glancing around, listening for voices in the back of the house.

“I’ll find Cameron,” she said and disappeared. Neely waited, and waited, and finally turned to the large oval window in the front door and watched the dark street.

There was a footstep behind him, then a familiar voice. “Hello Neely,” Cameron said. He turned and they stared at each other. Words failed him for the moment, so he shrugged and finally blurted, “I was just driving by, thought I’d say hello. It’s been a long time.”

“It has.”

The gravity of his mistake hit hard.

She was much prettier than in high school. Her thick auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her dark blue eyes were adorned with chic designer frames. She wore a bulky cotton sweater and tight faded jeans that declared that this was a lady who stayed in shape. “You look great,” he said as he admired her.

“You too.”

“Can we talk?”

“About what?”

“Life, love, football. There’s a good chance we’ll never see each other again, and I have something to say.”

She opened the door. They walked across the wide porch and sat on the front steps. She was careful to leave a large gap between them. Five minutes passed in silence.

“I saw Nat,” he said. “He told me you’re living in Chicago, happily married with two little girls.”

“True.”

“Who’d you marry?”

“Jack.”

“Jack who?”

“Jack Seawright.”

“Where’d he come from?”

“I met him in D.C. I went to work there after college.”

“How old are your girls?”

“Five and three.”

“What does Jack do?”

“Bagels.”

“Bagels?”

“Yes, those round things. We didn’t have bagels in Messina.”

“Okay. You mean, like, a bagel shop?”

“Shops.”

“More than one?”

“A hundred and forty-six.”

“So you’re doing well?”

“His company is worth eight million.”

“Ouch. My little company is worth twelve thousand on a good day.”

“You said you had something to say.” She had shown not the slightest hint of thawing. There was no interest in any of the details of his life.

Neely heard faint footsteps on the wooden floor of the foyer. No doubt Mrs. Lane was back there, trying to listen. Some things never changed.

The wind picked up slightly and scattered oak leaves across the brick sidewalk in front of them. Neely rubbed his hands together and said, “Okay, here goes. A long time ago, I did a very bad thing, something I’ve been ashamed of for many years. I was wrong. It was stupid, mean, lousy, selfish, harmful, and the older I get the
more I regret it. I’m apologizing, Cameron, and I ask you to forgive me.”

“You’re forgiven. Forget about it.”

“I can’t forget about it. And don’t be so nice.”

“We were just kids, Neely. Sixteen years old. It was another lifetime.”

“We were in love, Cameron. I adored you from the time we were ten years old and holding hands behind the gym so the other boys wouldn’t see me.”

“I really don’t want to hear this.”

“Okay, but can I get it off my chest? And would you try to make it painful?”

“I got over it, Neely, finally.”

“Maybe I haven’t.”

“Oh get a life! And grow up while you’re at it. You’re not the football hero anymore.”

“There you go. That’s what I want to hear. Unload with both barrels.”

“Did you come here to fight, Neely?”

“No. I came to say I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said it. Now why don’t you leave?”

He bit his tongue and let a few seconds pass. Then, “Why do you want me to leave?”

“Because I don’t like you, Neely.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“It took ten years to get you out of my system. When I fell in love with Jack, I was finally able to forget you. I hoped I would never see you again.”

“Do you ever think about me?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Maybe once a year, in a weak moment. Jack was watching a football game once. The quarterback got hurt and left the game on a stretcher. I thought of you then.”

“A pleasant thought.”

“Not unpleasant.”

“I think of you all the time.”

A slight crack in the ice as she exhaled and seemed frustrated. She leaned forward and rested both elbows on her knees. The door opened behind them and Mrs. Lane shuffled out with a tray. “Thought you might like some hot chocolate,” she said, placing it on the edge of the porch, in the large space between them.

“Thank you,” Neely said.

“It’ll keep the chill off,” Mrs. Lane said. “Cameron, you should put on some socks.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The door closed and they ignored the hot chocolate. Neely wanted a long conversation, one that covered several issues and many years. She once had feelings, strong ones, and he wanted to confirm them. He wanted tears and anger, maybe a good fight or two. And he wanted to be truly forgiven.

“You were actually watching a football game?” he said.

“No. Jack was watching the game. I happened to be passing through.”

“He’s a football fan?”

“Not really. If he’d been a fan, I wouldn’t have married him.”

“So you still hate football?”

“You could say that. I went to Hollins, an all-girls school, so I could avoid football. My oldest daughter has started school at a small private academy—no football.”

“Then why are you here now?”

“Miss Lila. She taught me piano for twelve years.”

“Right.”

“I’m certainly not here to honor Eddie Rake.” Cameron picked up a cup and cradled it with both hands. Neely did the same.

When it became apparent he was in no hurry to leave, she opened up a little. “I had a sorority sister at Hollins whose brother played for State. She was watching a game, our sophomore year, and I walked into her room. There was the great Neely Crenshaw, moving Tech up and down the field, fans going wild, the announcers giddy over this great young quarterback. I thought, ‘Well, good. That’s what he always wanted. A big-time hero. Adoring masses. Coeds chasing him all over campus, throwing themselves at him. Constant adulation. Everybody’s all-American. That’s Neely.’ ”

“Two weeks later I was in the hospital.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t following your great career.”

“Who told you?”

“I was home for Christmas break, and I had lunch with Nat. He told me you’d never play again. It’s such a stupid sport. Boys and young men mangle their bodies for life.”

“It is indeed.”

“So tell me, Neely, what happened to the girls? When you’re no longer the hero, what happens to all those little sluts and groupies?”

“They disappear.”

“That must’ve killed you.”

“Now we’re making progress,” Neely thought. “Let’s get the venom out.”

“There was nothing pleasant about the injury.”

“So you became just a regular person, like the rest of us?”

“I guess, but with a lot of baggage. Being a forgotten hero is not easy.”

“And you’re still adjusting?”

“When you’re famous at eighteen, you spend the rest of your life fading away. You dream of the glory days, but you know they’re gone forever. I wish I’d never seen a football.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I’d be a regular guy with two good legs. And I wouldn’t have made the mistake with you.”

“Oh please, Neely, don’t get sappy. We were only sixteen.”

Another long pause as they sipped from their cups and got ready for the next serve and volley. Neely had been planning the encounter for weeks. Cameron had had no idea she would ever see him again. Still, he knew the element of surprise would not help him. She would have all the answers.

“You’re not saying much,” he said.

“I have nothing to say.”

“Come on, Cameron, this is your chance to unload with both barrels.”

“Why should I? You’re here trying to force me to dig up bad memories that took years to forget. What makes you think I want to go back to high school and get burned again? I’ve dealt with it, Neely. Obviously you haven’t.”

“You want to know about Screamer?”

“Hell no.”

“She’s a cocktail waitress at a low rent casino in Vegas, fat and ugly, thirty-two and looking fifty, all according to Paul Curry, who saw her there. Apparently she went to Hollywood, tried to sleep her way to the top, got squeezed out by a million other small-town homecoming queens trying to sleep their way to the top.”

“No surprise.”

“Paul said she looked tired.”

“I’m certain of that. She looked tired in high school.”

“Does that make you feel better?”

“I felt great before you got here, Neely. I have no interest in you or your homecoming queen.”

“Come on, Cameron. Be honest. It must be somewhat satisfying to know that Screamer is closing in on skid row while your life is looking pretty good. You’ve won.”

“I wasn’t competing. I don’t care.”

“You cared back then.”

She placed the cup back on the tray and leaned forward again. “What do you want me to say, Neely? Shall I state the obvious? I loved you madly when I was a young teenage girl. That’s no surprise because I told you every day. And you told me the same. We spent every moment together, had every class together, went everywhere together. But you became this great football hero, and everybody wanted a piece of you. Especially Screamer. She had the long legs and cute butt and short skirts and big chest and blond hair, and somehow she got you in the backseat of
her car. You decided you wanted more of the same. I was a nice girl, and I paid a price for it. You broke my heart, humiliated me in front of everybody I knew, and wrecked my life for a long time. I couldn’t wait to leave this town.”